


christmastime (not in the city)

by Areiton



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Baking, Christmas Fluff, Depression, Established Relationship, Everyone takes care of each other, M/M, One Big Happy Family, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), This is all just sappy happy shit, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, happy fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-13
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:34:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 6,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21783772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Areiton/pseuds/Areiton
Summary: There's a part of him--a part of him that will never quite go silent--that still doesn't believe this. That doesn't trust it. It's too good, too much like everything he never could have, and it's his so how the hell can it be real?orSteve and Tony being stupidly domestic for the holidays.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 13
Kudos: 188





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Holiday and Happy Christmas or whichever holiday you celebrate! This is gonna be a 12 Days of Christmas thing and nothing (should) hurts so! Come back tomorrow for fluff!

Tony wakes up to the press of lips against his shoulder and strong arms around his waist. He smiles. Steve smells of wind and soap, freshly showered from his morning run. 

“There’s coffee,” he murmurs, and Tony wiggles in his arms, twisting to lie on his back and stare up at Steve. 

“That stopped working when Bucky moved in,” Tony informs him, and Steve snorts. 

“The lure of coffee is never gonna stop working on you, sweetheart,” Steve says. 

Tony gasps, all wide eyed offense, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips. "But," Steve says, kissing the corner of his mouth quickly before pulling back and standing, "if you want bacon, I suggest you get a move on." 

"You're so mean to me," Tony complains, and watches with appreciative eyes as Steve stretches, his body a long lean line of muscle and coiled strength. He doesn't quite lick his lips, but it's a near thing and Steve rolls his eyes. "We could skip breakfast," Tony offers. 

"We could--but the family will be here soon and we haven't even gotten things out of storage." 

Tony wrinkles his nose and Steve throws a sweater at his head. "Get up, shellhead." 

~*~ 

It was Tony's idea, is the thing. 

They needed it, he said, and no one fought him. After five years of loss and the battle that almost killed him, after Extremis put him back together and Steve's return from the past and passing on the shield--after everything that they'd all been through, they deserved this. 

They deserved to be happy. 

They won, and this--this is what it was all for. 

So they could go home. 

He wasn't an idiot--he'd been part of the fight too long to believe that the fight was  _ over _ , would ever be over. But it was, for now, for them. They'd earned this. 

~*~ 

The cottage is in upstate New York. It's not the same as the one where Tony and Pepper lived with Morgan, where the dream they had built together collapsed into friendship--he left that for Pepper and when she retreated to the city with Morgan after their divorce, he gave it to Rhodey. But he had learned to love the quiet pace of the country, and this--this quiet cabin in the woods with snow on the ground and enough space for their entire family--it was everything he'd ever wanted. 

He pads quietly down the hall, and he can hear Bucky and Steve, the familiar comforting rumble of their voices in the kitchen and the scent of bacon and maple syrup in the air mixed with coffee. 

Beyond the picture glass window, there is fresh snow and evergreen trees, a perfect storybook picture. 

It doesn't show their scars. He touches his chest, where the arc reactor lives, his metal fingers cool against the skin. 

Strong arms slide around his waist and he leans back into Steve. "C'mon, sweetheart. Come eat breakfast." 

There's a part of him--a part of him that will never quite go silent--that still doesn't believe this. That doesn't trust it or Steve. It's too  _ good _ , too much like everything he never could have, and it's  _ his _ so how the hell can it be real? 

He shivers in Steve's arms and smiles up at him and clings a little tighter. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day Two--we've got backstory and Bucky Barnes. My fav. <3

After Thanos--the world was a  _ mess _ . 

There were suddenly billions back from the dead, and it didn't actually fix anything. They restored the universe, but there were still problems, still giant holes and a mess of issues to sort through. 

Tony didn't. 

Tony spent six months with Extremis pumping through his veins, rewriting his code, suspended in Helen Cho's Cradle and when that wasn't enough, shoved into a slow cryo that didn't quite stop his recovery--but held him in stasis while he finished recovering. 

When he woke up, the world was stumbling along, Rhodey was being sworn in as Vice President, and Steve Rogers had been missing for almost five months. 

Bucky Barnes, though--Bucky sat at his bedside with an oversized scifi and a bad cup of coffee and he never left. Even when Tony woke up and was grumpy and bitching about being released, he never left. He stayed, more than anyone else could. 

The world needed Rhodey and Pepper, needed Sam and even Peter--but Bucky was one of the ones who existed in between, not quite needed, unless the world was actively ending. "No where else I need to be," he said, a smile twisting his lips a little "Nothin' else I'm real qaulified for but lookin' after self-sacrificial idiots." 

In the end, Bucky stayed because he was just as stubborn as Steve Rogers and because Tony was too tired to argue. 

~*~ 

Bucky stayed, and it was Bucky at his side, when the doctors told him that as good as Extremis and the Cradle were--they couldn't do any more for his arm. 

It was Bucky who sat next to him when Tony went quiet and silent, staring at the dead limb, his fingers twisted and unmoving. 

"I can't feel them," he said and Bucky twitched a little. "I don't--it doesn't even feel like mine." 

"Then don't keep it," Bucky said, and he was the only one willing to say that. It dragged Tony's gaze to him, wide and wild. "That--that's just a piece of dead meat. You'd never keep the arc reactor if it was dead, would you?" Bucky said, his voice a sharp challenge. 

Tony blinked at him, and he put his left hand on the bed, the plates shifting and whirring, familiar and comforting. "You don't need that," he said. "And as long as you cling to something as dead as that--you can't move forward." 

Tony stared at him, tears in his eyes and two days later--he asked for an amputation. 

~*~ 

They held onto each other. 

Even when Tony was discharged, even when he'd fit himself with a thinner, lighter arm in red and gold, long delicate fingers that could dance over circuitry even better than his flesh hand, even when he stopped waking, screaming, reaching for the burning stump of his arm. 

Even then, Bucky stayed and they held onto each other. 

Rhodey, when he pried himself away from DC, eyed Bucky asleep on the couch and offered Tony an arched eyebrow, all curious judgement. 

"He has nowhere to go," Tony says. "And I have no-one to stay." 

Something like regret flickered in Rhodey's eyes, and Tony shook his head. "It's fine, honeybear. Go save the world. We're ok." 

~*~ 

They were. 

They were friends, something closer than that, something that sang to Tony like Jarvis did--like Rhodey and Pepper still do, like  _ family _ . 

And then, thirteen months after he stepped into the past, Steve Rogers came home. 

~*~ 

Bucky leaving when Steve came home was the hardest thing to adjust to. 

There was a space that Bucky hadn't been able to fill, that Tony never wanted him to fill--and now, Bucky was gone and there was a Bucky shaped hole in his life. 

Steve came back, full of grief and memories and a life he wouldn't talk to them about and Bucky left, and for the first time since Thanos--Tony felt lost. 

Adrift. 

"Do you love him?" Steve asks, one day when he finds Tony wrapped up in Bucky's blanket, tears dripping down his nose. 

"Of course, I do," Tony says, and it's a little shocked, a lot defensive. "I love him like I love Rhodey and Happy, like a brother, Steve. He--we didn't have you. All we had was each other and we were ok, because we  _ did _ have each other." 

"Then why did he leave?" Steve asks, gently. 

~*~ 

They never talk about it, after. 

Steve calls Peter and the kid drops into the cabin, all babble and brightness while Steve vanishes on his bike and comes back, dusty and tired, and riding behind him, face tucked against Steve's shoulder is Bucky. 

They don't talk about it, but Tony wobbles, and Peter's arm steadies him, something both super soldiers track before Steve nudges Bucky into the cabin. 

Later, Bucky pads into the living room where Tony is sitting, curled in Steve's lap in the dark, his wet hair staining his shirt dark, pale toes peeking out of the hem of his pants. 

He hesitates, for a moment, seeing them, and Tony says, "Your spot is still open, Red October. And my toes are cold." 

Something life relief flickers in Bucky's eyes, and a smile licks at the corner of his mouth and he drops onto the end of the couch, and Tony shoves his toes under his thigh, sighing happily. 

"You belong here," Steve murmurs, later, when Tony is almost asleep in his lap, happy and surrounded by his arms and Bucky's presence. "With your family." 

"I don't wanna get in the way." 

Tony grumbles and kicks Bucky weakly and Steve laughs, a silent rumble under his cheek and he peeks up to see Bucky's smile, soft and pleased. 

~*~ 

He stays, after that. 

~*~ 

There is this, now, what he never expected. 

Coffee flavored kisses and Steve, pink and smelling of shower and wind, in the morning, in his bed. 

And Bucky, frowning at the bacon and stirring a giant skillet of eggs and grinning at Tony, metal clinking against metal, when Bucky hands him his coffee, and he sips it and smiles, pleased his family is close. 


	3. Chapter 3

The screen door creaks when Tony steps outside. There's a fresh fallen snow, a thick layer of fluff and ice fallen through the night. It clings to the trees and coats the ground and it makes Tony smile, a soft huff of frosted air as he wraps a thick blanket around his shoulders and settles into the rocker that Bucky put on the porch and never used. He tucks his toes under the blanket and inhales the scent of coffee. 

"Here for the show?" Steve teases, and Tony blinks up at him, a teasing smile twisting his lips. 

"You could leave it," Tony suggests, and his grin goes dirty. "We could find something else to do." 

"As much fun as that sounds," Steve leans down and pecks a kiss to Tony's lips, and he whines a little when the super soldier pulls away, "You'll be sulky if the kids can't make it up the drive. And I don't want you sulky." 

Bucky steps onto the porch. "We need more firewood, too," he says, and Tony makes a sad noise when Bucky tromps off the porch, disturbing the pristine snow. 

"It's ugly now," he says, and Steve snorts. 

"There are already tracks, sweetheart. From my run this morning? And the deer." 

"That's different," Tony says, with careful dignity. 

Steve smiles fondly and tugs a knit cap down over Tony's ears. "Don't stay out too long, you'll catch cold." 

Tony bats him away and settles deeper into his blankets to watch as Steve clatters down the steps and reaches for the snow shovel. 

Even wrapped in a thick coat and sturdy jeans, there's something enticing about the flex and give of his muscles, the effortless way he tosses the snow aside, clearing the drive in record time. 

There are plans in his private server, for a bot that can do this, quick and painless and efficient. 

But as he watches Steve work, a flush in his cheeks and blonde hair falling in his eyes, his coat discarded now--he sighs happily into his coffee. 

Sometimes bots aren't better. 

They sure as hell aren't as pretty to look at. 

And later, when the drive is clear and there's snow crusted on his jeans and his hands are icy, and his teeth chatter just a little, he comes to Tony, wraps around him in the kitchen and presses ice cold hands to Tony's belly just to hear Tony shriek and laugh, to feel him squirm to get away and giggle when Steve presses snow cold kisses to his neck, nipping just a little, his breath a hot puff of air after the chill of his lips. Tony twists in his arms, and leans up to kiss him proper, deep and wet and hot, until the snow melts away into little puddles at their feet and Tony is panting into his mouth and the chill in his hands has thawed and warmed and there's only lazy sweet heat, pressed close together, and the lingering scent of cold and pine. 


	4. Chapter 4

Bucky vanishes in the truck while Tony pokes at Jarvis' old cookbook, finding his favorite molasses cookie in the back. The little index card is grubby and stained and he can see Jarvis taking it out of the book, setting it neatly on the table with their baking supplies and giving Tony a wide smile before they start. 

For a moment, staring at the yellowing card stained with sugar and molasses, he almost feels like all the decades have been a dream, and if he waits just long enough, Jarvis will sweep in with a bright smile and a ready ear. 

He doesn't. Steve does, and he looks at Tony, his eyes bright and concerned at the tears in Tony's eyes. "Sweetheart? Are you ok?" 

Tony sniffles, and nods, and leans into Steve when the other man wraps around him. 

"We don't have to do Christmas, you know? Everyone would understand." 

"The kids wouldn't." 

Steve hums, and tips his head up. "They would. All of them would. If that's what you need--"

"I used to love Christmas," Tony says, cutting him off. There's an urgency to his words, a need to make Steve understand, that he doesn't quite understand himself. "I loved the decorations and the traditions and the food--and because Mom and Dad were gone so many Christmas' it was me and Jarvis making traditions, and Auntie sweeping in Christmas Eve with her stories and eating all the ginger snaps while she taught me how to use whatever weapon she brought me and listened to me babble about my latest project. I was happy, you know? Even without Mom and Dad--I was happy because I had the people who loved me close." 

Steve's face is the familiar cross between anger and fondness, the strange mix he always has when Tony talks about growing up. 

"I want that again," he says. "And I finally have people I want that with* and I--I don't want to cancel." 

"Ok, baby," Steve murmurs and Tony smiles and presses a quick kiss to his lips. 

~*~ 

Bucky comes back with boxes of lights and totes of ornaments, and a tree so big it takes both him and Steve to carry it in. DUM-E is whirring around excitedly behind the gate Tony set up to corral him, clicking so fast Tony actually worries about his server. Bucky and Steve bitch at each other putting the tree up, and Tony paws through the boxes, until he finally finds the stockings. 

There are three--one that is perfect and pristine, his name neatly embroidered. One that is old and tatty, Jarvis flaking off in childish hand painted letters. And one for Peggy, faded and still lovely, her name an elegant scrawl across the border. 

There are stockings in another box, ones he had ordered, when they first decided to host Christmas, for each of the kids and Steve and Bucky. But these--these he lifts out carefully and reverently hangs from their hooks on the mantle, and smiles at them, old and dusty and familiar. 


	5. Chapter 5

He wanted them to work. 

He wanted it so damn bad that for a long time, he convinced himself it would, and he thinks if the world hadn't ended, she wouldn't have gone along with it. 

But the world  _ did _ end, and for the first time in all the years he'd known Pepper, she was just as lost as he was, and they clung to each other, a fierce desperation in a world that didn't make sense. 

It was never going to last. Because the world ending didn't change fundamental truths--didn't change who they were. 

Tony was still obsessive and reckless. 

Pepper was still terrified he'd die, still a workaholic that rivaled Tony on his best days. 

He wanted a cabin in the woods and a little family and peace and his workshop. 

She wanted SI and the city and flights around the world. 

They were never going to work, never going to last. 

But they tried. 

And Morgan--Morgan was the product of  _ trying _ , of grief that shook him down to his foundations, of losing Peter and the universe. 

She was--is--the very best thing in the world, and he stares at her, sometimes, awed that she's his. 

~*~ 

He wakes up early, and he's still not up before Bucky. He forgets, sometimes, just how much Bucky and Morgan bonded, all those months they both spent in his hospital room. 

"You hear from Pepper yet?" Bucky asks, frowning at a tube of cinnamon rolls. 

"Thirty minutes," Tony says. 

Bucky breathes a curse and scrambles to get the cinnamon rolls in the oven as Tony eyes the cabin again, critical. 

It looks like Christmas threw up on it--lights strung on the banister, greenery on the mantle, mistletoe hung over the doorjam. The tree is massive and beautiful, strung with lights and carefully placed ornaments and the one string of popcorn Tony managed before he got bored with it. 

There's stockings on the mantle and cookies on the counter. It looks almost picture perfect, if pictures included a smattering of handguns and knives, and Bucky's tac gear piled on the back of the couch. 

It's not a picture, is the thing. It's the truth of his life. It's not a snapshot in the tabloids or in the many pieces done on the Mansion growing up. This is their home, well loved and lived in, and it wasn't ever going to be picture perfect. But it was home.

The tires on the drive drags Bucky's head up, eyes bright and Tony points at him. "Stay, Freeze pop." 

"I hate you," Bucky says, flatly, a smile curling the edges of his lips. Tony shrugs and hurries to the door, throwing it open as Morgan scrambles out of the car and barrels toward him. She's wrapped in red pajamas and a black coat, her braids messy and a grin wide and bright on her face as he scoops her up. 

Pepper follows, a little more restrained, but her smile no less genuine. He clings to his daughter and reaches for his ex-wife's hand, squeezing and the metal on her finger, the ring that isn't his, doesn't sting. It's there, a part of her life, and she's happy--but so is he. 

"You ready for Christmas, pumpkin?" he murmurs and Morgan nods against his chest, burrows there. "Pep, you got time to come in for coffee? Bucky made cinnamon rolls." 

Morgan makes a pleased noise, either because of Bucky or the cinnamon rolls, or maybe both. 

"Yeah," Pepper says, smiling, and he loves her, he loves her, he's always gonna love her. Even now. Maybe more, now. "I don't have to be back in the city until our plan takes off, and that's later this evening." 

He grins, and wraps an arm around her waist, and leads them both inside. 


	6. Chapter 6

When Tony woke up, he was surprised by a lot of things--by Steve's disappearance, by Bucky at his bedside, by the fact that he woke up at all. 

And by his daughter's adoration of a metal armed assassin. 

"She needed watchin'," Bucky explains, "when Rhodes and Pepper were talking to doctors and such. I didn't mind. She's smart and listens better'n Stevie ever did." 

Morgan wrinkles her nose. "He's nice," she says and snuggles close to Tony. "Can we keep him?" 

Tony almost tells her Bucky isn't a puppy--but he watches the way the one time assassin is with her, the way he trails after her, a small smile on his lips and he thinks maybe the comparison isn't all wrong, this time. 

Bucky fits, and Morgan adores him, and so it's not a terrible surprise, watching them as Morgan clambers onto the counter, Bucky's metal hand hovering behind her. She's jabbering a mile a minute, all the imperiousness of her mother and the self-assured confidence of her father, and the absolute trust that Bucky will listen, as she drags down cookbooks and cracks them open. 

"These are the best," she says, pointing at them. "They're Gramps' molasses cookies." 

"What about Granny Rogers windowpane cookies?" Bucky says and Morgan's brow furrows, thoughtful, and then she grins, wide and bright and mischievous. 

"We could do both!" 

"You know they'll be baking for days, if you let them." 

"Probably. I think Bucky got the stuff to make five different cookies and two cakes last time he went for groceries," Tony says, watching with a placid smile. There's something especially peaceful about his little girl giggling and measuring out flour and smearing it on Bucky's metal arm. 

"I never expected that," Pepper says, nodding at the pair. 

No one did. 

But then--no one expected him and Steve. No one expected him to  _ live _ . 

"Sometimes the best things in life are unexpected," he says, and Pepper looks at him, a smile small and sweet on her lips. "Happy was unexpected, wasn't he?" 

A pretty flush colors her cheeks and he leans over, nudges her shoulder with his. 

"Where are you going this year?" 

"Italy. The villa. I think next year we'll stay home, though. If you don't--" 

"Pepper--you're my best friend. You are always welcome here." 

She softens a little and kisses his cheek. Across the room Steve smiles at him from behind his book and she stands, putting her coffee down. "I should get on the road." 

There's a flurry of kisses and a bag of cookies pressed into her hands and Morgan's laughter and then Tony is waving her away, and it doesn't hurt anymore, watching her leave. 

Steve slips behind him and wraps an arm around his waist, tugging him back against his solid bulk. 

It doesn't hurt to watch her leave, because he is safe and loved and she always, always comes back. 


	7. Chapter 7

When night creeps over the cabin and the lake, the house smells like burnt sugar and spice, like pizza and dough and spicy sauce. It's been one of those days that are long, that feels endless and perfect, and there's a pang of sadness in the creeping twilight, in Steve wiping down the counters and Bucky pouring Morgan's apple juice and the smell of her baby shampoo in his nose where she's cuddled half asleep against his chest.

The fire crackles, happily, and he thinks, absurdly, of Yinsin, and how pleased the man would be, to see where he ended up. 

Steve sits down behind him, shifting Tony and Morgan without word and the little girl grumbles and clings tighter to him and yawns against his chest while Steve's fingers thread through his hair, the nails catching and skritching pleasantly. Tony's eyes flutter a little and he makes a quiet, happy noise in his throat. 

Yinsin would be so pleased, if he knew how far he'd come. A man with nothing, he'd said. 

"Daddy," Morgan says, and he tips down to look at her, all sleepy eyes and soft petulant frown. "How long?" 

There's a familiar whine and the rustle of tree branches and Tony grins at her as she straightens up. 

"Think it's time, pillbug," he says and Morgan scrambles out of his lap and to the door, throwing it open and shrieking, "Rhodey!" 

The armour gleams in the deepening dark, and he catches her with gauntlets that are as gentle as Pepper's hands, scoops her up and throws her into the air, and a blur of red and blue catches her as she shrieks in laughter. 

Rhodey steps out of the suit and Tony takes the two steps down to be folded into his arms, clinging tight to his brother. 

"Hey, Tones," Rhodey murmurs, and he rubs his face into Rhodey's shoulder, and knows that Rhodey will never mention the way it comes away damp with his tears. 

"Took you long enough," Tony bitches, his voice wobbly and Rhodey snorts. 

"Had to pick up your packages," he says, nodding at where Peter is swinging Morgan through the trees. He tips his head back, staring at the sight of his children and the sound of their laughter echoes back and across the lake and his brother is at his side. Steve is a step away, soft and warm and waiting and the cabin smells like home, like cookies and food and metal and everything he loves, and he is suddenly breathless with it, with everything he has. 

With everything he has fought to get and keep and he has it. 

Rhodey's hand on his shoulder tightens and worry shades his brother's eyes for a moment and Tony waves it off. "C'mon. There's food inside. You hungry?" 

Rhodey flicks a look at Peter and Morgan and Tony tugs at him. "They're fine. C'mon, honeybear." 

Rhodey grumbles but goes, and Tony looks out at his children once more. 

"I have everything, now, Yinsin," he whispers and hopes his old friend can hear him. 


	8. Chapter 8

He wakes up and he knows it's going to be a bad day. 

Because even now, even retired and happy, the love of his life at his side, his children close and his brother happy--even now, there are bad days. Days when he's wrapped up in dark thoughts and grief, nights riddled by nightmares and when he can't find sleep, when Steve pushes him away and retreats into grief, days when Bucky shivers and shakes and claws at his arm. 

They are mended, shattered pieces patched together, but they are  _ broken _ , and days like today--those cracks ache and he shivers, tears sliding silently down his cheeks as he stares blankly at the ceiling. 

He  _ hates _ days like today. Because he is happy, happy in a way he never expected and still isn't sure he deserves, and he wants to bask in it, in that hard fought for and earned happiness. 

And he can't. 

There's guilt in it, like he's letting down the people they lost. He aches for Natasha, an empty space in their lives that feels like a black hole, sucking in the edges of happiness that budge up against it. 

There's guilt that he feels this way at all. He has Morgan and Peter and Steve, still. Has Rhodey and Pepper. He didn't lose nearly as much as Steve or Bucky.

Steve shivers next to him and stretches, pressing against him as Tony shudders silently, tears wet and salty on his cheeks, dripping into his ears. 

Steve makes a low, wounded noise and nudges at him carefully, curls closer and when Tony still doesn't respond, he shifts and rolls up, over him, covering Tony with his body, until Tony shudders and inhales, a hard, gasping noise that echoes in the silence of their room. 

Steve kisses him, carefully, nips at his lips until Tony opens for him, licks into his mouth slow and lazy and indolent. 

It does what Tony know Steve wants. It drags him out of his thoughts, grounds him in the moment, in everything he has and not what they lost, in the *good and not the endless spiral of bad. 

Because there is good. He's living in it, every day. He's wrapped up in it, right now. 

"Stay with me, darlin'." Steve murmurs and Tony makes a noise, a choked sob that makes Steve's hands on him tighten, until Tony is curled against his chest and the bad is still there, heavy and inescapable in his mind. He'll spend the day under a dark cloud, and he knows that Bucky will notice, that he'll make pots of tea and slip him cookies that the kids can't touch, that he'll try to distract them and keep them quiet and Steve will stay close, will wrap around him and hold him still and steady. 

They'll take care of him, the way they always do, the way he does for them, when days like this happen. 

"Eyes up, sweetheart," Steve says, softly, and Tony leans up, kisses him quick and hard, and keeps his eyes open, fixed on all the beautiful good things that dark days can't diminish. 


	9. Chapter 9

The doorbell rings around five and Tony twitches in Steve's embrace. Peter is on the floor next to him, his head resting on Tony's knee as he tinkers with his web-shooter, and Morgan is reading in Rhodey's lap while Bucky naps in the window seat, and there's no one in the hemisphere who should be knocking on his door.

He lifts his head, blinks sleepily at the door. "Who's 'at?" he asks, tongue thick with sleep and contentment. 

Peter is scrambling up, and Tony feels a sharp spike of fear, and Tony wants to reach for him, pull him back, away from the door and whatever is waiting there. 

He doesn't. 

If only because he is trying to believe that the world won't always hurt the ones he loves. 

He opens the door and Tony peers up at Peter quietly inquisitive noise. 

The basket is wrapped in gold and scarlet ribbon, and Peter pokes it again. 

"Friday," Steve murmurs. 

"No threats detected, Cap," she chirps back and Tony finally shifts himself up and off his boyfriend, stretching as Peter brings the basket in. 

There's an array of gourmet chocolates and a bottle of wine that looks as expensive as the car he bought Peter for graduation, and there looks like long cones of metal nestled in between the food and wine and a small fluffy bear. 

"Mine?" Morgan asks, bright and eager and Tony glances at Steve for a second. It's his choice, of course. Morgan is his daughter and Steve might be his partner, but Tony never expected him to also be a parent. Not to Morgan, not to Peter. 

"Sure, sweetheart," Steve says, soft and smiling. 

"There's a card," Peter pipes up and Tony reaches for it. 

_Latveria is lovely this time of you. As lovely as you. There's always a place for you here, darling._

_V._

He blinks at the card and then up at his family and Peter is clearly fighting back giggles. "Is Doctor Doom courting you?" 

"No!" Tony shouts. 

"Kinda looks like he is, Tones," Bucky says sleepily. 

"Vic is a friend," Tony says quickly. 

"Since we were at MIT, right?" Rhodey says, slyly. 

"Shut up," he grumbles, and snatches at the bottle of wine. 

Steve snags his shoulder, drags him back with a firm hand on the nape of his neck. The kiss is dirty and deep, more than he usually indulges in when the kids are here, and when he finally lets go of Tony, Tony is panting a little bit, his eyes wide and hunger curling hot in his belly. 

"Gonna need to let Vic know you're off the market unless we're honeymooning in Latveria," Steve murmurs against his lips and Tony grins. 

"Gotta propose first, big guy." 

"Christmas is comin' soon, darlin'," Steve drawls and Tony grins, and dips down to kiss him again.


	10. Chapter 10

There's a particular cadence of noise that can wake any parent from a dead sleep and he hears it, the too loud noise of Peter and Morgan whispering. 

She giggles and there's the light sound of feet on the hall floor before the creak of the steps and he relaxes back into the blankets. Light is creeping through the curtains and his children are happy. There's a pleasant ache in his body, a reminder of Steve's jealousy still apparent after they crawled into bed, when he kisses the taste of wine from his mouth and fucked him with the deep driving thrusts that made Tony bite bruises into his own arm to keep from screaming. 

He stretches now, as the scent of coffee wafts up from the kitchen, and Steve shifts behind him, nosing at his throat. 

"Think they'll make bacon?" 

"Parker family breakfast," Tony says, rubbing back a little just to feel Steve's hands tighten on his hips, the hitch in his breath. "Pull apart bread and sausage balls." 

"Sounds complicated," Steve says, biting at his throat, and then licking over it, a lazy sweet sting. 

"A little," Tony breathes, and bites back a moan when Steve shifts, and his cock, hard and thick, rubs along his cleft. The sleep pants he'd dragged on after they fucked are thin, and he can feel the way Steve's hard cock catches on his rim, a hint and a tease. 

"Good," Steve says, and his hand comes up, cups Tony's throat, long thick fingers shifting him a little to cup his chin and twist him up for a kiss that's dirty and wet. He licks into Tony's mouth with a single-minded determination, thumb rubbing over Tony's pulse point and nipping at his lower lip just to hear him whine. Tony presses back, a whimper in his throat, shameless in need and want and Steve hums against his lips. "Can you be quiet, baby?" he murmurs and Tony's eyes flutter closed as Steve wraps a hand around his cock, stroking him hard and slow, the way he knows Tony loves but can't quite come from. 

"You gotta be quiet or I'm gonna gag you," Steve murmurs and he shudders, cock jumping in Steve's hand. It earns him a laugh, huffed over his throat as he shifts up and rolls Tony into the sheets. He brushes a finger over Tony's rim and Tony presses back, eager for it, and says, "Don't--don't need it, just--please--"

Steve breathes a kiss over the nape of his neck and presses in with one slow thrust. He's tight, but still slick from the night before, and his body gives with more ease than normal as Steve presses inexorably deeper. 

It's slow, a deep dirty grind as much as anything, Steve's lips hot on Tony's throat, teeth digging in when Tony makes quiet, breathless noises against the pillow, when he shoves back against Steve's slow rolling hips, when he grinds down into the flannel sheets that are soft and worn and smells of them. 

From far away, the sound of his family is bright and warm and he can hear Steve's breath going short and hot, the delicious little grunt he makes when Steve shoves in real deep and good, and he groans, a sweet familiar noise, and Tony comes, comes hot and hard, his eyes squeezed shut and his hands twisted with Steve's and so full he can barely  _ breathe _ . 

Later, after they've caught their breath, Steve will wipe him down and kiss him sweet and blush just a little when Tony offers to clean him up with a leer. Later, Tony will take Steve's hand and lead him downstairs, to their family, to the traditions that Peter is teaching them, and the last day before Christmas. 

For now, he basks in Steve's arms. 


	11. Chapter 11

The day ends the way so many of their days do, now. Quiet, reluctant, a sigh on the night that shivers over the house. 

There is something very melancholic and sad about twilight on Christmas but as it drifts over the cabin, Tony is struck by how happy he is. 

Peter nudges into him, and he slides an arm around his shoulders, draws him close. “You ok, kid?” 

Peter nods against his shoulder, his face smearing in his shoulder. The kid got clingier, after Thanos, after he came back and Tony woke up. There was an ease and familiarity between them that made him warm and soft, the way that only Morgan ever had. 

“‘m good,” Peter mumbled, and tips his head up, so he can peer at Tony, all big eyes and hopeful smile. “Did you have a good day?” 

Tony hugs him close, and presses a kiss to the kid’s hair, curls flat and limp. “The best day, kiddo.” 

Morgan stumbles out of the house and wiggles between them, her hair damp from her bath. “You’re supposed to be in bed, pillbug,” Tony says and she pouts at him. 

“Pete’s suppos’e to tell me a story,” she mumbles. 

“I was,” he coos, tugging her close and scooping her up. He glances at Tony as the little girl winds her arms around his neck and burrows close. “You coming?” 

Tony smiles, and nods. “In a minute.” 

Peter smiles and goes inside and he can hear, for a moment, the sound of conversation, of Bucky and Rhodey arguing over movie choice and Steve’s humming, flat and out of tune, and Morgan asking for three stories instead of one, and the door closes, and he’s alone, wrapped up in the warmth of his family so close he can reach out and touch them. 

He isn’t sure, still, if he deserves this. Isn’t sure he ever will deserve it. But it’s his,  _ his _ life,  _ his _ family, and he fought for it. 

Strong arms wrap around him, and the ring Steve found under the tree glints on his finger, and Tony leans back and smiles up at him. 

He’s happy. 


End file.
